Ten Songs, Ten Drabbles
by Elfpen
Summary: Ranger's Apprentice. Ten songs. Ten drabbles, written in the timeframes of those songs. Ever wondered what Elfpen's writing looks like unedited? Look no further! Random songs. Random prompts. Random results. Oh, I must be crazy for posting this. R&R.
1. Chapter 1

**The Ten-Drabble Challenge**

Ten Songs, Ten Drabbles

So, the basics of this challenge are:

1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.

2. Turn your music player on and turn it on random/shuffle.

3. Write a drabblet/ficlet related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterward! No matter how whacked out your drabble is.

4. Do ten of these, then post them.

NOTE: "Drabble" is used in the sense of a short story, not an actual 100-words strictly or anything like that.

**Author's note: I got this challenge from a writer friend of mine, and after failing miserably at trying to write an update for **_**Running for My Life, **_**I'd decided I'd try my hand at this. **

**KEY:**

**#. Title **_(Author) – Length: m:s_

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**Hero **_(Skillet) – Length: 3:06_

This was supposed to have been easy. They were supposed to show up, arrest the outlaws, and go home. But somehow, none of that seemed to matter now.

Will was pressed up against a wall, coughing from the smoke and flames, a hard cold knife against his throat. The brigand standing before him didn't seem to pay any heed to the smoke that suffocated the air out of the small hideaway, but Will's eyes streamed with tears from the irritation.

The young apprentice squeezed his eyes shut against the blackness, and tried to think of what to do. His weapons had been lost a while ago – in fact, it was his own saxe knife that was against his throat.

Come on, Halt. Will thought desperately. Help me! He knew his was bleeding from multiple wounds. He couldn't see, could move, could do anything. Halt would have to save him.

"_Don't try and be a hero,"_ Halt's words echoed in his mind.

"I didn't." Will insisted to no one. "I didn't."

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_A/N: Well that made ABSOLUTELY no sense. I'm embarrassed to post it, it makes so little sense. But that's the fun of these things, no?_

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**2. The Righteous **_(Epic Score) Length: 1:40_

It was disgusting. Horace couldn't believe that anyone could do what Tennyson had done. How could anyone be so heartless? So careless with human lives?

As he looked down at the scorched corpses buried beneath the rubble, Horace knew that each one of them had a name, once, with a family and friends who loved them. No more. They were just burnt skin and bones.

With a determined glint, Horace fixed his face in determined steel and looked at the horizon. He would avenge these helpless victims. Tennyson was not righteous.

* * *

_A/N: GAH! It doesn't make any sense, either! Now you all get to see what my writing looks like when I don't have hours to tweak it! Ewww… Bleh, I don't like it. Anyway… Moving on._

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**3. Lion **_(Rebecca St. James) - Length: 3:49_

Will couldn't bring himself to move to look around, but he could hear it. It was a heavy breathing, like one that he'd never heard before. It was hungry. It was strong. It was drawing nearer.

_Lion, _The word echoed in his mind. So this was how it would end, then. At the teeth and claws of an alien creature, a cat of power that he'd never seen. His body, mangled and eaten beyond any hope of a proper burial.

_I wish I'd gotten to say goodbye,_ Will thought to himself_. I'm sorry, Halt. Maybe he'll find my oakleaf._ Will told himself. _Maybe at least he'll know that I died in relative peace – eaten in my sleep._ It was his last conscious thought before he slept.

Unbeknownst to the ranger, Arrow was already charging when he lost consciousness. By the time the horse's carcass was stripped clean, the lioness had already moved on, it's hungry stomach filled for the time being.

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_A/N: MORE NONESENSE! This is driving me insane. I'm not sure if I like this._

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**4. The One I'm Waiting For **_(ReliantK) – Length: 3:02_

Cassandra glanced at him sidelong. The picture of chivalry, the utter personification of dignity, Horace stood straight at attention at her side. Since becoming her champion, Horace had grown even more handsome and noble than he had been before. She considered his nobility as she looked at him, and sighed in admiration.

He fidgeted, and the picture was ruined.

Inside, Cassandra giggled. She wouldn't change a single thing about Horace even if she had the choice. She turned back to her plate of birthday-feast food, and nibbled at the toast. Horace, she'd decided, was a very fine knight, a finer man, and the finest friend she'd ever known. And now, glancing at him, trying to imagine a crown perched on his head, Cassandra decided that he just might be just the one that she'd been waiting for all this time.

* * *

**5. The Fight Begins **_(Tom Salta) – Length: 1:13_

They'd come out of nowhere. With that unearthly howling and those horrid eyes, the Kalkara had descended upon the Gorlan ruins without warning.

Halt had hung low at first, but they'd spotted him somehow. Sweat dripped form his brow. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. This may well be his final battle.

He thought first of Will, his young apprentice. And then of Pauline. And of friends.

Then, he saw the torches.

His hope was rekindled.

* * *

**6. You Can Always Come Home **_(Jason Castro) – Length: 3:20_

Will was soaked. Wet, tired, and weary of the road, he trudged up back the dirt path with squish-squashing sound. Tug hung his normally perky ears, and after helping the horse settled into the stable, Will sighed against his soggy cloak. His shoulders slumped, he dumped his boots by the door.

It had been a long, hard day. There were mounds of work to attend to still, and on top of it all, he'd caught the sniffles. Oh, what a day.

He entered the cabin and dropped his prized weapons with a 'thunk' and shuffled into the living room.

And up from the couch, the last person he'd ever expected to see looked up.

"What on earth happened to you, Will?" Halt asked him calmly.

Will couldn't speak, but instead just stared. What was Halt doing here?

Halt just shook his head. "Welcome home, Will."

The smallest of smiles touched Will's mouth.

* * *

_A/N: I am so sick of this nonsensical writing. I'll be surprised if anyone actually enjoys this!_

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**7. Worth It All **_(FFH) – Length: 4:29_

Two thousand, one hundred, ninety-one days.

Four bows.

Seven hundred, forty-eight arrows.

Seven cloaks.

Ten thousand, five hundred, sixteen (and a half) questions.

Nine hundred and twenty _useful _questions.

Eight-hundred pounds of coffee grinds.

Twenty-two infirmary visits.

Sixty-four bandages.

Six hundred gold pieces for food.

Another two hundred for clothes.

Oh, and don't forget fifty for that silly lute.

Seven barrels of apples.

Sixty-seven thousand, eight hundred and ninety buckets of water.

Fourty-six trips to the Redmont Diplomatic Service. For no reason at all.

Three haircuts.

Two knives.

One apprentice.

The silver oakleaf was lowered over Will's head with some ceremonious care, and the crowd cheered at him. Halt stood away in the back, watching as the sum of the past six years came to a close. Somehow, despite all the costs of having an apprentice, it had been worth it all.

* * *

**8. He's My Son **_(Mark Schultz) – Length: 5:39_

Halt buried his face in his hands, trying to ignore the hot tears that poured down his cheeks

Lying on the bed, Will was unconscious and unresponsive. His face was scraped raw and red, his head twisted off to one side at an odd angle. The breaths that racked his frame were quick, short, and entirely too shallow. The white sheet that covered Will's torso saved any passer-by from the sight of the injury that sapped the lifeblood from Will's features.

There had been so much blood. Halt couldn't see anything else but that blood, the blood and mangled flesh. He'd seen such gore dozens of times before, but this time it was different. This time, he'd known him. He'd seen that boy, body rocking with laughter, collapsing in exhaustion, drifting through the trees as if he was born for it. The same body, now mangled and bleeding. Now, it was a white ghost of what it was supposed to be. That lifeless face was not Will.

Pauline placed a hand on Halt's shoulder. He turned to her, and something broke inside of him. He couldn't stop weeping if he wanted to. Pauline let him, and sat down next to him before bringing him into a rare hug.

He didn't resist. He simply shook his head against her slender shoulder, tears streaming.

"He's my son," He told her through the tears. "He's my son."

* * *

**9. Surrender to Hope **_(Immediate) – Length: 4:52_

Halt glanced around at the figures surrounding him. Every one of them were strangers to him, except the one who'd found him. Shouldering his pack, Halt advanced across the courtyard slowly, glancing up at the tall towers spiraling above him. Several guards passed him, giving him strange glances, and some asked him questions. Thankfully, the girl leading him answered quickly. He was grateful. He didn't want his Hibernian accent to be heard in this strange country. He wasn't sure how Araluens felt about their neighbors across the west sea.

"We're almost there," She told him. He tried to recall her name. Ah, yes, Pauline. She was young, about his age – seventeen. Suddenly, they were in a huge room. An older man, who was apparently Pauline's mentor, spoke with her in quick voices. Then, he was following them into an even larger room. A throng of guards came towards them, and a young man – barely even twelve, emerged from amidst them. Dressed in fine clothes, he was obviously royalty. Halt shrunk inwardly.

"You're Prince Halt, then?" The young tween asked kindly, his green gaze emitting a strange amount of wisdom for one so young.

Halt looked to Pauline, but she nodded for him to answer.

"I am." Halt said, his voice dripping with an uncomfortably thick accent.

The young man smiled at him, and extended a still-growing hand.

"I'm Prince Duncan." He said. Noticing Halt's discomfort, he smiled wider. "Don't worry, Halt. You don't have to worry about your brother and all that here – you're safe." He drew his hand away from Halt's, and nodded positively. "Welcome to Araluen."

In that moment, for the first time in years, Halt felt an inkling of something that almost – almost – made him want to smile.

It was hope.

* * *

**10. The Change **_(Stephan Curtis Chapman) – Length: 3:46_

By the time Duncan had heard, the entire royal family was ecstatic. By the time the whole castle had heard, the amount of congratulations was deafening. And by the time the whole country had heard, well, it was an excuse for a nation-wide celebration

Cassandra had been beaming for days. Duncan had actually thought she might be a bit challenged by the change, but she seemed to take it gladly in stride.

Horace had been bombarded with all kinds of comments and questions and congratulations to the point of closing himself in his quarters to avoid the sudden attention.

However, after talking with the man, Duncan knew that Horace was probably the most exited man out of everyone in the entire country.

The king frowned thoughtfully as he picked up yet another gift box addressed to Cassandra and Horace. He opened it, and pulled out the contents with a smile. He left the small white baby slippers off to one side, to give Cassie later.

As he regarded the two small shoes, Duncan decided that for however drastic this new change in his life was, it was definitely a good kind of change.

"Hmm…" He spoke softly to himself. "'Grandfather.'" He tested the word.

He smiled.

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**Author's note: THE INSANE NONESENSE COMES TO AN END! I promise I did not edit any of these, beyond any faulty punctuation or formatting that escaped me. All of the words are original. (and totally nonsensical)**

**I must be crazy for posting this garbage.**

**Somehow, enjoy. Let me know which one you thought made least sense via Reading and Reviewing. **


	2. Round 2  No time limits

A/N: I am shocked how much you guys liked this story. And, truth be told, I had a jolly good time writing those snippets. So, I'll give it a second go.

Ranger's Apprentice © John Flanagan.

All songs © listed artists.

KEY:

**#. Song Title **_(Song Artist)_

See chapter 1 for challenge rules!

Okay, you know what? SCRATCH THE RULES ABOUT TIME LIMITS. I'm going off of the song with little snippets. Some are short, some are long, but while trying to write them in the time limits, I was getting a bit frustrated. So I took out the time limit rule temporarily.

I promise I'll go back to time limits later, but these are going to be some long drabbles without constraints of writing time limits.

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**1. Not in Blood, But in Bond **_(Hans Zimmer) _

"Will, get out of there!" Halt found himself yelling at an abnormally loud volume as he realized that the building would collapse at any moment.

Will had gone inside to search for anyone else trapped inside. Halt had warned him not to, but he had insisted. The fire was slowly licking its way up the ramshackle hut, higher and higher. It creaked with signs of impending collapse. Halt's heart was beating out of his chest. _Will was in there. Will was trapped in there._ It was all he could think about. The survivors of the fire stood nearby, and they watched the building nervously, their ash-smeared faces showing concern for the brave ranger's apprentice, who'd yet to emerge from the fire.

Halt's pulse increased. "Will!" He cried again, desperately. To go in after him would be sure suicide for both of them. But to stand here was torture. _Will's in there. _Halt looked at the black smoke and orange flames with apprehension. _My son is in there._

It was his last thought before the twin oil lamps on the front of the building finally caught flame. With a rocking explosion the building erupted in a huge ball of fire.

"Will!" Halt screamed.

_Son. _Not in blood, but in bond.

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A/N: Gah, The end was painfully choppy, but I didn't know what to write …Has anyone else noticed that the first songs for both of these chapters so far have started with Will trapped in a burning building? I think my subconscious must have a vendetta against poor Will… :P

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**2. My Heart Would Know **_(Hank Williams) _

The answer had always aggravated Alyss to no end, ever since she'd tried asking Pauline as a young teen.

"_But, Pauline, how do you _know _when you love a man enough to marry him?" She'd asked._

_Pauline had smiled knowingly, but had merely shrugged and said: "Oh, you just know."_

Alyss ruefully remembered the frustration she'd encountered over trying to pry an actual answer from her mentor, or any other older woman in the whole of Redmont Castle. 'You'll just know' had been the overall consensus, and it drove Alyss up the wall. She wanted a straight answer.

Unfortunately, she would eventually have to give up the chase for one, because she would grow into her twenties without one logically straightforward reply. It still confused her as much as it ever did.

But then, one miraculous day, a beam of realization came down from above, and Alyss finally came to an understanding. A few feet away, Will swung off Tug with a flourish of mottled grey, and Ebony shot over to her in a swirling ball of tail-wagging. Will was soon to follow, and something about him, whether it was his bright, off-center smile, that horribly messy hair, or maybe just the fact that she'd known him since before she could walk, but something about him standing there made something click in Alyss' mind.

And all of a sudden, it all made sense. She just knew.

After all, not all matters of the heart could be explained in words.

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A/N: UGH, I do NOT like that song… it's painful to listen to. The only reason it's on my iPod is because it was on a soundtrack. :P

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**3. All Wrapped Up **_(Jason Castro)_

"What on _earth _are you doing?"

Horace turned to look up at the Princess with an innocent expression. "Wrapping presents." He told her.

Cassandra glanced at the mess of fabric and ribbon before her, and resisted the urge to laugh. She picked up a package, and glanced skeptically at the off-hue orange and purple wrappings.

"I see." She said. She placed her hand oddly in front of her mouth as to cover the smile there. She watched as Horace tied a bow clumsily on another package, apparently pleased with himself. She just couldn't hold it back. She burst out in laughter. Horace looked up at her in confusion.

"Cassie, are you alright?"

"Oh, Horace." She calmed down, and went over to where he sat on the floor. "I think you need a yuletide gift-wrapping lesson."

"What?" Horace looked indignant. "I am managing perfectly fine, thank you."

As he was speaking, Cassandra plopped down next to him and picked up a recently-wrapped present. The fabric wrappings were loose, and the bow was drooping sadly. She pulled at a corner, and the whole thing came undone.

"Hey, now- what are you doing?" Horace demanded.

"Helping you, that's what." Cassandra told him, and she went to work at re-wrapping the gift.

"But I was doing perfectly fine before you showed up, and-" Horace stopped talking as Cassandra held out the present, now wrapped neatly and beautifully, with a smooth bow on top. "Oh…" Horace seemed deflated. "Yes, I suppose that's much better…" He thought on this for a moment, and then looked balefully at the small, crinkled mess of wrapping cloth in his hand.

Cassie laughed. "Oh, Horace, don't look so glum. It is yuletide, after all." She leaned over and gave him a sound kiss on his cheek, leaving his face burning red. She chose to ignore it, but smiled inwardly. "Now how about those gift-wrapping lessons?" She picked up another poorly-wrapped box and started at fixing it.

Horace smiled, paying the boxes no attention whatsoever. "I'd like that."

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**4. Counter Attack **_(John Powell) _

The battle with the Scotti so far had been quite straightforward. They were at a break in the battle, the Scotti having retreated for the time being to regroup. They would return, and the Araluens were planning for it. Among the chief planners were the King, his daughter, and the Rangers. As it seemed, Duncan and the senior rangers were mostly staying out of it, only lending advice occasionally.

In all honesty, the battle was so small, it was almost a joke. So, Duncan had thought that it was a good time to hand the reins to his daughter, for some field experience. Crowley had echoed his thoughts. Now, the two were questioning their own sanity.

Currently, Cassandra was trying to plan out the details of the counter-attack with Will. Unfortunately, the two didn't seem to be getting along. Halt, standing not too far off from the command tent, glanced in the direction of their 'discussion' with an eyebrow raised. As Horace entered the tent, the ranger gave his young friend a 'good luck' glance. Upon entering, the knight could see his two friends huddled over a table, a map and various battlemarkers lying before them.

"Yes!" Cassandra forcefully pushed a small figurine across the map, setting a 'troop' into position over a certain area.

"No!" Will shoved it back with just as much force.

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

Horace stared. He tried to comment. Then, he watched. He blinked. He sniffed. And then, he turned around and left, shaking his head as he went.

God save them the day that Cassandra and Will were put in charge of a major war.

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**5. You and Me **_(Lifehouse) _

Heaven help him, Horace _hated _dancing. It suited him much better to be the one standing off in a corner, keeping an eye on everything, ensuring that everything ran smoothly. Unfortunately, that was not a champion's job, so it seemed. In fact, so far, all his newly-appointed title had brought him was excessive dancing, scratchy clothes, noble strangers trying to engage him in small talk, and a fancy medal with Cassandra's crest on it.

Overall, he enjoyed being known as a figure attached directly with the Princess. But, then again… He tried not to be too awkward with the kind young lady he was currently dancing with. He didn't know her, and yet for some reason, he was expected to dance with her. She looked a bit uncomfortable at his inability to engage in conversation, and Horace was sorry for the fact. He just couldn't talk and dance at the same time – it was one or the other, not both at the same time.

He was saved when the song ended. He thanked the lady for the dance and quickly made his escape, hiding in the back of the room, trying desperately not to be noticed.

Of course, Cassandra had always been rather good at noticing things.

"What are you doing back here?" She asked kindly. Horace jumped.

"Oh, your Highness," He addressed her with a small bow. She swatted his shoulder.

"Oh, stop it. I didn't make you my champion just so you could bow to me – quite the opposite, actually. It's just 'Cassie', Horace, and you know it."

Horace smiled. Something about her presence put him immediately at ease.

"Now come on, you need to get out there and dance if you're going to give a good first impression." She offered him her hand, slender but strong. "Come dance with me. You'll have to get used to it sooner or later." She smiled.

He took her hand, and wordlessly led her to the dance floor. For some reason, dancing didn't seem so bad, now.

* * *

**6. It's Not Me It's You **_(Skillet)_

Halt stood silently in front of his parents as they bombarded him with harsh words. His head was hung low in submission, but his heart was grasping at tendrils of rebellion. From beneath his darkened brow, Halt glared over at Ferris, who held his head high and glanced at Halt with a kind of contempt. Their gazes met momentarily, and in that moment, identical pairs of deep brown eyes glared into each other. Halt's gaze was silent and smoldering with anger. Ferris eventually looked away. He could never look his brother in the eye.

_How could they be so blind? _Halt asked silently, trying to zone out the familiar words of discipline. Time and time again, day after day, week after week, year after frustrating year, Halt had become Ferris' personal scapegoat for all of his shenanigans. The fact that Halt and Ferris were identical only made matters worse. Both brothers often resented the fact that they were identical twins, both for different reasons. But at the tender age of six, Ferris had discovered that because Halt looked just like him, he could pass his own blame onto his brother whenever his actions brought about unpleasant consequences. Since then, he'd not only perfected the art of making everything look like Halt's fault, but had singlehandedly earned Halt a filthy reputation.

And now, at age fourteen, with that mistaken reputation set in stone, Halt was wondering why he even tried to prove his parents wrong in the first place. They had blinded themselves to seeing Ferris' deception years ago. After rejecting Halt's protests, they'd continued on believing the second twin. Halt silently brooded this as he glared again at his brother again. Ferris felt it and turned discreetly to meet Halt's gaze once more. Halt sent him a deadly glare.

_It's not me, _it said, _it's you._

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**7. I Have Been There **_(Mark Schultz)_

Will yanked at his hair fiercely as tears streamed down his face. The sobs that racked his body were interwoven with screams of rage as he stomped about outside of his cabin. Pacing back and forth, back and forth, he stopped momentarily to punch at the huge barrel of water outside of his door. Ebony glanced at him, before laying her sad head back between her front paws and pining once more.

Halt had come to see why Will wasn't at the Castle. The Baron had been expecting both rangers that day, and Will wasn't the type to go against his word, so Halt had insisted on checking on his old pupil. When he found Will, crying and pacing and punching and screaming, he didn't know what to think.

"Will," He asked upon arrival, seeing his former apprentice in such a state, "What on earth is the matter?" His face was riddled up in a strange expression of concern. Ebony looked up at the older ranger, her manic eye rolling over to him slowly, sadly.

Will didn't notice Halt. Frowning deeper, Halt came up behind Will and grabbed the younger man's shoulder, turning him around.

Will started with a small, strangled cry. Once he saw Halt, he kept weeping freely, except now he hung his head in shame.

"Will, what's wrong?" Halt demanded, shaking Will's shoulders. Will just shook his head, unable to speak through the gasping sobs. He fell to the ground where he was, face in his hands.

"Will?"

Will pointed towards the lean-to not that stood too far away. Halt glanced at him, and then went to the small stable. Once inside, he understood.

Halt returned to Will's side, and sat down next to his weeping apprentice, wrapping the man in a rare embrace.

"I'm so sorry, Will." Halt said, trying to dispel the image of Tug's dead form. "I've been there too, Will." He told the younger ranger. He recalled his old friend, Abelard. "I've been there, too."

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A/N: So sad! I could hardly bring myself to write it! I'm so evil!

* * *

**8. Ultimate Contest **_(James Dooley)_

It was a well-known fact in the Ranger Corps.: Graduated apprentices _always _wanted to get the better of their former masters. And former masters _always _wanted to show their graduated apprentices that this was a hopeless endeavor.

It was also a well-known fact that Halt was the most accomplished, legendary ranger ever to work in the Corps.

But it was also a well-known fact that Will Treaty was arguably just as skilled as his old mentor.

These three common-knowledge facts, all mixed together at the annual Ranger Gathering, had culminated to create the greatest entertainment event of the year, if not the decade.

The marksmanship contest had started out as it did every year. It was voluntary entry as always, but unlike most years, this year, by some miracle, Halt had been persuaded into joining. After whittling out first the apprentices and then the less-practiced archers among the rangers, the finalists had come down to the top shooters of the Corps. After several more rounds of tournament-style shooting, it had come down to two contestants: Halt and Will Treaty. Master and apprentice. Teacher and pupil. The Legend and the The Legend's Shadow.

It was the ultimate contest.

Every single ranger in the Corps. had come to see the event. Apprentices sat by their masters with gape-mouthed, awed expressions as former master and apprentice took up their bows. Who would win? Both contestants were legends not only among the rangers, but across the whole nation. It was a legendary ranger pitted against his legendary apprentice.

Gilan dropped down on a log bench next to his Commandant, not taking his eyes off Halt and Will, who rose to the shooting line. Everything was deathly quiet – no one clapped or cheered, out of respect for the archers' concentration. Quietly, Gilan handed Crowley a cup of steaming coffee before sipping at his own. Gilan had been eliminated from the tournament near the finals, but he could have hardly cared about his own performance - he was getting to watch his best friend and his beloved teacher duke it out on the archery field. This was the chance of a lifetime.

"This," Gilan told Crowley quietly, as Halt plucked an arrow from his quiver, "is going to be good."

* * *

**9. I Know **_(MercyMe)_

For some reason, watching the grim, guarded, legendary ranger Halt squirm so uncomfortably gave her a sick kind of pleasure. Pauline put on an innocent face as he shuffled awkwardly beside her. It was late at night, and the noise and music of the party at Castle Redmont could be heard from where they were, walking back towards the woods. The party itself was just part of a national celebration. The young King Duncan, crowned only three years ago, had recently announced the birth of his daughter and first-born heir, Cassandra. As was the tendency, the birth of a royal gave the whole nation a reason (or even an excuse) to celebrate. Practically everyone in the fief was invited to Castle Redmont, and Halt and Pauline were no exceptions.

But Halt, being a reserved, private person, viewed parties with slight distaste. He could only stay for so long before growing tired of the whole thing. He had left early, and Pauline had followed him.

Halt had only been Redmont's ranger for a little under a year. He and Pauline had met long ago while in their late teens, after Halt had quite literally washed ashore from Hibernia. She'd been one of the few people to accept him despite his awkward situation and nationality. They quickly became good friends, out of necessity on Halt's part, out of compassion on Pauline's. They stayed close friends throughout Halt's apprenticeship, but after he graduated, they lost track of each other. Halt had been assigned to a northern fief, and Pauline to Redmont.

Then, wonder of wonders, Halt had been transferred to Redmont. They reunited and continued on with their former friendship. Both had matured a good deal, but they were still friends. Halt still spoke with a slight Hibernian accent, and Pauline still carried herself with a natural grace and poise. They got along just as well as they used to, and, whether Halt would like to admit it or not, their relationship had lately evolved into a romantic one.

In fact, it seemed that he was on the verge of finally confessing the fact.

So, when, after a long while of quiet talking, Halt finally turned to Pauline in all seriousness, she was only slightly caught off guard.

"Pauline?"

"Hmm?"

"You know… I… I think…" He trailed off.

"Yes, Halt?" She asked patiently.

Halt sighed, and she could make out a blush on his cheeks despite the failing light. "I love you." He said, very, very quietly, almost too quiet to hear.

Pauline beamed, and kissed him on the cheek before taking his hand.

"I know."

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A/N: Exactly why half of these drabbles became romance flicks, I don't know. I'm not a romance person, but somehow… ugh. Anyway, I hope they weren't too bad.

And yes, I do realize that they get longer and longer… :P Sorry. I just couldn't take the whole 'time limits' thing again. It's kind of constraining, when you are bursting with ideas.

Oh, and in case you're listening to some of these songs and wondering how on EARTH I came up with the stories, know this: I draw inspiration from the titles, not the lyrics themselves. Sometimes, the melody inspires me, but the lyrics are pretty much left out of the equation.

Thanks for reading! Drop me a review if you enjoyed the drabbles (or even if you didn't)


	3. Horace fluffermuffins

**WARNING: If you are not a fan of the Horace/Cassandra pairing, turn back now. There will be lots of Horace/Cassie fluff in this chapter.**

Set #3: No time limits, character centric. This time around, I'll be focusing all of the songsnippets on a certain character:

This round's character: Horace

THERE WILL ONLY BE 5 STORIES THIS TIME. Why? Because I feel like it. :P And because these are going to be rather long stories.

Also, this time around, I'll be doing something that my sister recommended. I'll list the length of the songs (m:s), but instead of limiting myself to one repetition only, I'll play the song however many times it takes to finish the blurb, and then list how many times I listened to the song while writing the blurb, so y'all get a general idea of how long I spent on each one. Just a fun little idea.

P.S. By the way, I'm sorry that the last chapter only had nine shots – I didn't realize this until someone pointed it out in a review. Terribly sorry.

Anyway, enjoy the Horace blurbs and Horace/Cassie fluffermuffins!

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**1. If Everyone Cared **_(Skillet) – Length: 3:34 – Repetitions: 4_

Horace sighed as he ran his hand across his face. When Duncan knighted him all those years ago, he'd known, however vaguely, that knighthood would come at a price. It wouldn't always be a cushy existence of celebrity status and glorious battles. Since that day, he'd learned very well that battles were by no means glorious, and a knight's life was anything but cushy.

But the one thing that he hadn't been expecting since that day was the sheer amount of depravity surrounding him.

Each day he spent longer in his position, the more pompous, heartless sods he met in seats of power. They were self-consumed. They were spiteful. They wanted everything. They shared nothing. And most of all, they didn't care about anybody. There were no such things as 'relationships' to them – only 'relations'. Assets. Tools. It all went against everything that Horace had learned and valued over his years of experience, and dealing with those idiot barons, knights, and nobles, let alone working with them, taxed at Horace emotionally and mentally.

He hung his head against the cool granite pillar and wished that he could, for just a moment, escape from it all. He let out another deep sigh.

A small hand came to rest on the crook of his arm. He opened his eyes slowly, to look sadly over at Cassandra.

"You alright?" She asked him.

He shrugged. "Oh, you know. Just the same as always." He looked away.

She frowned at him. "No you're not. The Horace I know doesn't sulk like this. What's on your mind?" She prodded kindly.

Horace sighed, looking out into the dusk. "Oh, it's just… Everything, I mean, everyone that seems to be in charge of this country gets on my nerves." He said. Cassandra turned to glare sharply at him. He corrected himself quickly. "I mean, not everyone – not you and your father or anyone like that, it's… Just… Oh, Cassie, surely you know what I mean. There are so many barons… So many lords and knights who just… Ugh!" He pounded his fist against the balcony railing. "They're such…" Horace's mouth twitched a few times, but his voice faded off before he could use rude language in front of the princess.

Cassandra smiled at his close restraint, but it was a sad smile. "Yes, I know what you're talking about." She told him. She said nothing for a moment, simply resting her hand on his arm, studying his features as he stared broodingly out into the horizon.

"Horace, you can't change them." She told him eventually.

He sighed, and nodded in resignation. "I know. But I just wish that…"

"That they would change? Horace, if they're ever going to change their stubborn ways, it'll their own decision, not yours. All you can do is give them a good example to follow. And maybe, when life knocks them off their feet, they'll look at you, and decide to be more responsible. Until then," She told him, "There's really nothing you can do."

Several moments passed before Horace responded. "I suppose. I just wished that they… Well, that they _cared._"

Cassandra smiled sadly, looking at him appraisingly. Horace had a natural sense of responsibility about him. He wanted to solve every problem, fix every issue. She knew he couldn't, but his willingness to try and his concern for the problem showed the good heart he had beneath his sometimes simple exterior. Not for the first time, Cassandra was incredibly thankful to have Horace as a friend.

"If everyone cared as much as you do, Horace, the world would be a better place." She told him, drawing nearer to him. "But until then, I'll be ever-grateful for your caring heart." As she said it, she wormed her way between him and the railing so that she could wrap her arms around him lovingly.

Slightly taken off guard, Horace returned the embrace.

"Cassie?" Horace asked after a while.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think they'll ever change?"

She smiled. "If you stick around long enough, Horace, they just might."

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A/N: Here I will apologize in advance for the overload of Horace/Cassie fluff that is sure to ensue in this chapter. I just can't get enough of them. I must admit that they're my favorite RA couple right now. :P

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**2. Love Like Crazy **_(Lee Bruce) – Length: 3:37 – Repetitions: 6_

"Arg! I'm gonna get you!" The huge hands came down upon the innocent little boy, and he screamed and ducked away. Strangely, it was hard to tell if the child was screaming in fear or laughter.

"Not if I get away first!" He squealed, making for the couch, which he dived behind enthusiastically. The huge monster perusing him could never follow him here, he thought.

Of course, he hadn't counted on the fact that the monster had such long arms. They snaked behind the furniture and grabbed him by the feet, dragging him up to a dizzying height. He screeched again, but the giant only laughed at him.

"Haha! I have you now!" It gloated, bringing him in closer.

Knowing the peril that awaited him in those deep clutches, the boy wriggled this way and that, trying to escape. "No! No, ahhh!" He grabbed with miniscule fingers at the huge claws, but it was of no use.

The enormous hands descended upon his belly, and he dissolved into a fit of giggling. Oh, the torture! How could he ever overcome the dreaded Tickle Monster? It was a daunting feat only accomplishable by the bravest of knights.

Which, of course, should have made this relatively easy for him, considering he was the most bravest knight to ever walk on the earth. Unfortunately, bravery did not translate into sheer strength - he might just need some help on this one.

"Ahhh! Help!" he cried. Though slightly disoriented from his upside-down position, he could make out the form of his trusty steed in the distance. "Help!" He cried towards the majestic animal, "Lancey, help me!"

Lance came bounding dutifully towards his master, but he couldn't seem to figure out how to help the hanging young knight.

Now growing tired from laughing and hanging and clawing at the monster, the knight was beginning to wonder if he would survive. Lance was being no help whatsoever - how would he escape?

"What's going on in here?" A voice appeared. It was his salvations.

Oh, what joy! Finally, a vision of hope before his eyes! He may yet be delivered from the tortures of this foul beast! Through painful giggles, he mustered a call for help.

"Mommy, save me!"

Cassandra smiled lopsidedly at the red-faced toddler and reached to pluck him from where he hung. She righted him and set him on the ground. He quickly set off running down the hall to another room, the huge, bounding wolfhound, Lance, following close behind him. Cassandra shook her head, before turning to the 'Tickle Monster'.

"Oh, the trouble the two of you get up to. I could hear you from the council room, you realize."

"Well, lucky thing that council isn't in session." Horace smiled cheekily at her, kissing her cheek.

"You are crazy, you know that?"

"And if I am, you know you love me for it."

She shook her head again. Before she could comment further, Lance came trotting back into the room, a toddler balanced on his tall shaggy back. As the dog passed, Cassandra casually picked her son up and plopped him in her lap.

"Liam, what have I said about riding around on Lance?"

He hid his small face.

She scoffed. "Oh, you are such a crazy little man. You take after your father." She glared over at Horace, who looked offended.

"Did you hear that, Liam?" Horace looked astonished over at his son. "She called us crazy. Well, I'd say that _she's _crazy, don't you think?"

Liam shook his brown-haired head. "Nope."

Horace's eyebrows rose at that. "And what about me? Is daddy crazy?"

Liam smiled widely, green eyes twinkling with mischief. "Yep!"

Cassandra laughed, and Horace sniffed in annoyance. Lance came and laid his long shaggy head down on Horace's knee. Despite being bred as a hunting dog, Lance was really a giant teddy bear, who liked to think that he was something of a lap dog. The man looked down at his dog now.

"You know, Lance, I do believe this is something akin to 'mutiny'." The dog looked back up at him intelligently, and licked at Horace's hand in consolation.

"Well, it may be mutiny, but it's the truth." Cassandra rose and went over to him, balancing Liam on her hip as she did so. "You _are _crazy. But you are also right – I do love you for it." She kissed him, and turned back to her son.

"You too, little man." She kissed Liam's forehead. "You may both be crazy, but I love you both for it."

"Hmm… Speaking of 'crazy'…" Horace innocently rose from his seat, and drew closer to his son. Suddenly, his hands came down upon the boy.

"You'd better run!"

Enthusiastically rejoining their game, Liam wriggled free of his mother's grasp and made for the hallway, Horace in hot pursuit.

Exited by the action, Lance barked and ambled after them. Cassandra only sighed and watched them go. They were crazy, all of them.

But she loved her boys, for however crazy they were.

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A/N: I've been wanting to do something like that for a while, now. I tell you, there's a whole slew of post-RA stories running around in my head, wanting to be written. By the way, I'm not sure how well this was conveyed in the story, but Lance was written to be an Irish Wolfhound – they're amazing dogs. Go look up a picture to get an idea of just how big they are – they're more or less small horses, not dogs. And Liam is the shortened version of 'William', which I picked as a kind of reference to a line in book 8 where Horace promises to name all of his grandchildren (or children, in this case) after Will because of a rather dubious favor that the ranger did for him. I hope you enjoyed it!

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**3. Undignified **_(David Crowder Band) – Length: 3:34 – Repetitions: 4_

Horace gulped as he surveyed the huge animal. Horses were much more intimidating up close, he decided. Especially battlehorses.

When he'd agreed so readily to learn to ride, he hadn't given the experience a second thought. It would be a fact of life from now on he knew, and he hadn't really expected to meet much resistance from a simple-minded horse. In all honesty, he had thought learning to ride might be something along the lines of learning to climb a ladder. Unfortunately, he'd been wrong.

His assigned horse, Kicker, was giving him nothing but trouble. Horace was a strong boy; consequently, he'd been paired with a strong horse. However, Kicker had so much muscle, it made Horace look like a wiry little cat standing next to a bear.

"What, afraid of a little pony, baby?" Jerome, one of Horace's quickly-acquired enemies, taunted. Horace grit his teeth in annoyance. Swallowing his dread, he quickly mounted up on the horse with surprisingly little effort. However, being on top of the beast didn't exactly ease Horace's nerves. The giant hulk of horseflesh moved and shifted beneath him, constantly reminding him of the fact that though it may obey his commands if it felt like it, this horse was most definitely _alive, _and could do whatever the heck it dang well felt like doing, with no difference to Horace's relatively insignificant weight on its back.

Gulping, he tapped the reins lightly against Kicker's neck, and the steed started forward.

Rodney watched at a distance as Horace and the other apprentices mounted up. Some had already learned, and some where naturals at it. Most of them had moderate control of their animals, though a few were still struggling to mount.

Horace, though he may have looked a touch knightly atop his mighty steed, felt quite certifiably terrified. _Don't get too nervous, _the Horsemaster's words rang in his head, _horses can sense your emotions, and can tell if you're an experienced rider or not. If you tense up, so will they. If you're nervous, they'll be nervous. The last thing you want is to be on top of a battlehorse while it's skittish. People get hurt that way._

Horace gulped again, taking a deep breath, wishing he was somehow not as terrified as he was. Kicker's ears flickered from side to side in a nervous manner. Experimentally, Horace tugged on the reins, and directed the horse in a circle. Encountering no trouble, he tried to nudge the horse into a faster gait. Kicker obeyed, and though Horace was still rather tense, he was beginning to think that he'd gotten a handle of things.

Then his foot came out of the stirrup.

Curse whoever had adjusted that darned thing to be so short. In a strangely blurry sequence of events, Kicker reeled around and bolted for the stables, going much faster than Horace would have liked, before turning suddenly and throwing the battleschool apprentice high into the air, to let him land in a very unfortunate spot of ground.

A chorus of groans and gasps, and three sets of laughter (he could already guess from whom) sounded as he disdainfully pulled his face from the ground.

There was absolutely no way to remain dignified, Horace thought, with one's face covered in horse manure.

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A/N: Hehehehehehehe! I'm so mean. This reminds me strangely of several events in Merlin… :P

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**4. Safe and Sound **_(MercyMe) – Length: 3:43 – Repetitions: 3_

It was late. Not too many people in Castle Araluen were awake this time of night, and so the general welcome home was lacking in enthusiasm, but that was alright with Horace. He was simply glad to be home. He was battered, worn, tired and slightly injured, but he was alive, and he was home.

He'd been gone for nearly two months, now, on a campaign to the southern fiefdoms, to join in the fight against a small uprising that threatened to ravage the crops and villages of southwest Araluen. It had been a long, hard fight, and Horace was glad to be headed home. He'd been traveling for three days, now, and despite darkness, he'd ridden on through the night to reach the Castle at long last.

The night guards greeted him warmly – they knew him well. He simply nodded, and went on to his quarters. There was really only one welcome that he wanted to have receive at that moment. He washed himself down from the dust of the road, and changed into some clean clothes, before heading up the deserted stairwells to the royal suite. The guards let him pass without question. Horace was one of the few men who was allowed in the royal apartments in and of his own title. He bypassed a number of doors until he reached the one he'd come for. Passing through a cushy anteroom, he headed to an understated wooden door.

He'd promised her he'd let her know the _moment _he got home. He knocked on her door.

Hair mused from sleep, nightgown wrinkled, Cassie answered the door with a sleepy expression. Her eyes widened as she recognized Horace's voice.

"Well, I've actually been home for several moments, but I figured that you-" Whatever he was going to say was cut off as Cassandra launched herself at him, hugging him with a strength that contradicted her small size and drowsiness.

"You're safe." She said, as if letting out a breath she'd been holding for weeks.

Horace smiled, burying his face in her hair, reveling in her presence. Only then did he realize just how much he had missed her.

"Yes, I'm safe." He assured the princess, who was falling asleep rather quickly against his chest, "Safe and sound."

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A/N: Aww, another little thing that I've been waiting to do for a while. I really like this whole little song-stories deal. It lets me write down all of the fluffy stories that aren't actual stories and post them for you guys to read. It also helps me procrastinate from papers that are due in a few days. :P

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**5. Revelation **_(Third Day) – Length: 3:33 – Repetitions: 4_

It was rather ridiculous that he had never realized it before then. In fact, it was nearly impossible to believe that he had been so dense as to not realize it sooner. It was so blindingly clear that an idiot would have seen it from a mile away. It was natural; it was perfectly blatant; it was so utterly and completely, inexplicably and disgustingly obvious that Horace felt like smacking himself upside the head for not noticing it sooner.

He was in love with the crown princess.

When he had blurted out this new revelation rather unexpectedly in Will's company, the ranger had laughed quite heartily at Horace's expense. "You're just now figuring that out, are you?" Will had commented through laughter, "Well then, I'm glad you finally admitted it." Annoyingly, from then on, Will couldn't be in both Horace's and Cassandra's presence without snickering in a very unbecoming way.

Halt, unfortunately, offered no more consolation than his overly amused former apprentice.

"You know, why Duncan enlists the counsel of such oblivious knights is beyond me," the jaded ranger had said after Horace had confided in him, "of course you're in love with Cassandra. It's not like I didn't know that beforehand." As he'd said it, one of Halt's eyebrows had been perked precariously above a dark gaze. If what Will said was to be believed, this was the Halt equivalent of a smirk.

The world was against him, Horace was convinced.

After a great deal of confusion and annoyance, the knight had finally mustered up the courage to inform Cassandra herself of his brilliant new revelation.

When she heard him say it, her face had broke into a grin. At first, Horace had thought that she too might poke fun at his slowness of mind, but instead, she had grabbed his face and kissed him.

_You know, _Horace thought to himself as he wrapped his arms around her, _she always seems to appreciate my revelations more than everyone else. _

Horace decided that he might just have to come up with some more revelations some time soon.

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A/N: Oh, that knight's mind is SO much fun to mess with, isn't it? I enjoyed writing these. :P If you enjoyed them, please review!


	4. Will's Turn!

This time, it's Will's turn!

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**1. Homesick **_– MercyMe – Length: 3:41 – Repetitions: 5_

Will slouched against his desk, his face smashed against his palm as he scanned over the report from Baron Ergell. The words didn't penetrate his mind, as he was deep in thought. After several attempts at reading the material again, and never once being able to remember what it was about, he sighed and rose from his desk, which was littered with documents that had suffered the same fate as the Baron's letter.

Will didn't know what was wrong with himself. He'd been at Seacliff for about four months straight now, after the events in Macindaw. Nothing much had happened since his return – there was enough local trouble to keep him occupied, but not enough to keep things overly busy. He wasn't bored. He wasn't overworked. He wasn't being unappreciated, and thus far, his advice had been heeded readily by the Baron and his Battlemaster, what after the events with the Skandian dinner party.

Still, despite the fulfillment in his job and his duty, Will felt a deep, painful ache deep in his gut that he couldn't seem to trace. He'd never felt it before, and he didn't know where to take reference. Was this some sort of sickness? Was he ill? Worse yet, was there something psychologically wrong with him? He wasn't sad, really… Well, maybe a little bit. But why? He couldn't put his finger on it.

Sighing, the young ranger left his cabin, breathing in the fresh spring air. He went over to Tug, who was grazing happily in a freshy-grown patch of wildflowers. The horse whinnied at his master's arrival, and greeted Will with a friendly snort. Will smiled weakly, taking Tug's velvet muzzle into his hands as the horse raised it to him, huffing into the horse's nostrils as a customary reply greeting. He smiled again as Tug tossed his head, before settling down to enjoy Will's stroking.

"You seem happy enough. So why aren't I?" The ranger inquired the animal, his smile fading. Tug rolled a dark eye over at his master, intelligent and perceiving, but for once with nothing to say. Will sighed, and scratched the little horse across the crown, messing his forelock.

"Well, I suppose it's no use spending all this time thinking over it uselessly." He looked balefully back over the cabin, knowing the work that awaited him within. "I have things to do, anyway."

With a sad sense of dread, Will trudged back into the cabin and sank in front of his desk. A few minutes later, he picked up his workload and hauled it outside to sit on the veranda. He was feeling quite lonely, and needed Tug's company.

Still, it didn't quite quell the tugging in his gut. He sighed, and picked up the first report. This was going to be a long day.

Two weeks later, he was mounted up with three days' supplies and headed to the Gathering. He was feeling an inexplicable rush to get there – he didn't know why. He had never rushed when he was under Halt's tutelage – in fact, he remembered wanting to sleep longer when Halt went to wake him. He smiled at the memory.

He continued on a normal pace, a pace that now seemed maddeningly slow, and resisted the urge to nudge Tug into a gallop. Soon, but not nearly soon enough, he found himself at that small fork in the road where he, Halt and Gilan usually met up. This year, it was a bit different, not riding in with Halt's company, and Will felt rather strange in finding that he was the first one there.

Then, Halt crested the hill.

It was in that moment that Will realized that he had not thought of playing a trick on his old master. But for some reason, that didn't matter in the slightest.

"Well, look what the wind blew in. You know, I thought you'd be skulking away in the trees, what with the way you are always climbing over everything. Losing your touch already, are you?" Halt's sarcastic voice floated over to him. To any normal person, it might have been hurtful. But to Will, the familiar, sardonic voice was the sweetest sound he'd heard in a long time.

Will suddenly realized what the tugging in his gut was: He was homesick. Sorely, sorely homesick.

As soon as Halt had dismounted Abelard, Will walked over to him wordlessly, not wanting to speak through the lump in his throat, and wrapped his teacher in a firm embrace.

Halt, momentarily startled, was keen enough to recognize the body language of his old apprentice. Gilan had gone through something similar to this, he remembered, when he had first been assigned to Meric. It was no surprise that Will was experiencing similar emotions. But for some reason, Halt felt a certain, strong affection for Will. Perhaps it was because Halt was going soft in his old age, perhaps it was because Will was as close as a son to him, but Halt chose to indulge in a rare hug, and held Will in a fatherly grip for some moments before letting him go. He didn't say anything as Will wiped furiously at his eyes, trying to downplay his emotions.

"It's good to see you, Halt." Will managed a surprisingly normal tone, considering that his throat was as tight as it was.

Halt nodded steadily. "It's good to see you too, Will." Halt looked the man in the eye, and put a hand on his shoulder. Will suddenly felt the burden of the past months melt away, and the tugging in his gut lessen. He was home.

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**2. Stumbling In **_– Great Big Sea – Length: 3:23 – Repetitions: 6_

Looking back, he had been a right klutz when he was an apprentice. Well, at Ranger standards, anyway - much less at Halt's standards.

"_Will, what in heaven's name are you doing?"_

"_I'm climbing"_

"_Well I can see _that_," Halt called back sarcastically, "I am just hoping that my apprentice didn't have such a stroke of idiocy as to not realize that he's climbing a _dead tree."

"_Dead?" _

"_Yes, dead. Lifeless. Leafless. Fruitless. Useless, with the annoying habit of being extremely-" The tree interrupted Halt's comment, and Will's ears filled with an ominous creaking noise. Before he knew what was happening, he was free-falling through the air to land squarely on his noggin._

"_-brittle."_

"_Owww…"_

Yes, it was safe to say that Will was a little less than graceful in his apprenticeship years. For however many heroic deeds he was hailed for in his teens, he was sure to have gone through two dozen acts of sheer clumsiness for each of them – most of which would hit at the most inopportune times.

"_Stop." Halt's saxe was cold against his throat. Will huffed up at his unruly hair. Why? What was he doing wrong?_

_As if reading his mind, Halt removed his knife and sheathed it. "You tramped through that leaf pile as loudly as a drunken moose. Try it again – this time, to the northern side."_

_They were skirting the forests nearer to Castle Redmont. Not to close, but close enough to see some of the training fields of the Battleschool. Grumbling, Will returned to the starting point of the obstacle course that Halt had set for him as an exercise in stealth movement. He started the course again, and thought he was doing rather well. That is, until he reached the edge of the forest. He could hear a group of Battleschool students laughing nearby – they must be returning to the castle. He tried to ignore them. At one point, he had to face the edge of the woods, and rose to a rather precarious position to rise over a small log._

_Then, he felt a solid shove to his rump, and he stumbled and fell in a rolling, cloaked heap of cloth and flesh out of the forest with a decidedly undignified yelp. The young warriors passing by, though rather startled, were thoroughly amused when they recognized him. Will could have sworn he saw Horace in the group, laughing at him. He'd have to get back at him later. Blushing furiously, Will glared back up at where he knew Halt's face would be. He could have sworn he saw a smirk._

Of course, Halt took a merited amusement in the results of Will's trial-and-error method of exploring the range of his Ranger-training, but in the end, Halt was always there to clear up any danger posed by his apprentice's inexperience.

_The bandits that they'd been tracking were in sight. They were quite dangerous, as the ranger and his apprentice had learned over the past few days. Armed with crossbows and clubs, they weren't the run-of-the-mill bandits – these were experienced fighters. Will's gut was taught with nervousness. This was one of his first ambushes, and he was eager to do well in front of his teacher._

_Crouched low, both rangers held their bows close, one longbow and one smaller recurve, and headed to the small cliff that overlooked the path the criminals were taking. As Halt had instructed earlier, they would wound the crossbowmen first, and then pick off the clubbers. They were aiming for injury only – the Baron wanted all of them alive to face jail sentences. _

_It was all going well until Will, wound up in his nervousness, attention to the traveling bandits, and willingness to please Halt, inched just a bit too close to the cliff's edge. The soft clay of the structure began to crumble beneath his boot toe, and he quickly found himself sliding downwards. He made a quiet noise of surprise, but before he could fall, Halt reached forward and grabbed his belt, yanking him backwards to safety. Will, surprised, thrown off balanced, and now a good deal embarrassed, took a moment to regain his footing while Halt was already shooting._

_Will only got one shot off before it was all over. Halt hadn't looked at him in a disappointed manner – just a matter-of-face gaze that said: Lesson learned._

Lesson learned indeed.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before Will outgrew his clumsiness and inexperience, and became a ranger just as skilled as his old mentor.

However, Halt didn't fully realize this fact until he decided to track Tug to the Gathering one year, only to find a grey-shafted arrow pinning his cloak solidly to a tree.

Will's cheeky smile spoke volumes, and Halt got the vague impression that his apprentice viewed this as payback. Halt pursed his lips, and wondered what had ever happened to his clumsy, inexperienced young apprentice.

As they were riding back to the Gathering Grounds, though, his question was answered as Will dismounted and started into camp, only to trip on a small rock and quickly regain his footing before anyone could notice.

Of course, Halt did notice. Behind Will, the old ranger smiled. His clumsy apprentice wasn't gone, he realized. Merely hiding.

Because whether he'd like to admit it or not, Will would always be stumbling in behind Halt – if however gracefully, with that idiotically huge grin plastered to his face.

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**3. I Would Die for You **_– MercyMe – Length: 6:28 – Repetitions: 2_

It was something of an unspoken oath in their relationship. Ever since Halt had dropped his oakleaf to go off and find Will in Skandia, ever since Will had gone riding through the night to find a cure for Halt's lethal poisoning, after all of the years of friendship and companionship and family, it was a silent certainty between the both of them.

Somehow, it had not come to fruition before; the oath had never been invoked for fulfillment. By some miracle, both men had been spared the agony of fulfilling that oath, or having to see the other fulfill it.

Unfortunately, some oaths turn out to be inevitable prophecies, and that particular day, though it started out so ordinarily, would be different. That day, on that snow-covered ground, the unspeakable promise would be held to the ultimate test.

But after all was said and done, as Halt cradled Will's head in his lap, as the scent of spilt blood wafted up from the icy ground, it was no longer a question of whether or not Will would die for him.

The question was instead the heart-felt plead of a broken man: Would Will live for him?

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A/N: By the way, #3 is a reference to my story, _'Legacy'. _

And I'm feeling super lazy, so you only get 3 blurbs this time. My creative juices kinda dried up after #3. I don't particularly like #2, but I like #1 and #3 alright, though they could be better.

Ugh. I'll probably look back on these later and cringe. That's what I get for writing at midnight whilst dosed up on benedryl.

Thanks for reading! R&R, please!


	5. NaNo takes over

_**READ THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE, PLEASE!**_

**This update will be the last update I make until NaNoWriMo is over! So, don't freak out if I disappear off the face of the planet for a while. I'm just typing and chugging caffeine like a madwoman. I'm already behind on my word count, so… yeah. Though it's not like my readers aren't used to my lack of updates. Sorry, guys. Life happens. School happens. Life happens some more. Writing gets the back burner.**

**But, until December (gosh, is it the end of the year already?) here is the last update:**

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**1. Should've When You Could've – **_Skillet – Length: 3:31 – Repetitions: 3_

Crowley watched them with a mustered smile, dancing happily across the ballroom. Halt may have been slightly uncomfortable, but he fulfilled his duty with grace and his own equivalent of a smile, if only for her. Pauline looked as beautiful and poised as ever, glowing with happiness.

Crowley sighed as he realized that he would miss that about her. Not that she would be gone, but Crowley was just realizing that he had thought of her differently up until the day that she and Halt were married.

The commandant remembered when they were all so young – young, naive, faced with every possibility in the world. Back then, they had been the closest of friends, and, for a while, it had been _Crowley _and Pauline who had been something of a couple. Then Halt had come onto the scene, not unwelcome, and things had changed. Halt and Crowley had become friends very quickly, a strange dynamic rising between two otherwise opposite personalities. Pauline, a long-time acquaintance of Crowley's, became something of a caregiver and confidant for Halt. An estranged foreigner learning to live in a new land, Halt had taken a while to learn his way about Araluen, let alone the higher-up circles of Araluan leadership. Pauline, ever adept in that area, had taken Halt under her wing and befriended the young Hibernian. But, as rather unplanned result, an unlikely romance formed between the two.

That was when things had changed.

Before then, Crowley and Pauline had shared a close friendship, and though Crowley had never found out how she felt, he knew he fancied her as a romantic interest. Then Halt had come along, and friendships shifted in different directions. However, because he was so wrapped up in other things, because he was such good friends with both Halt and Pauline, so utterly oblivious to the slow progression of their romance, and so completely against the notion that independent, headstrong Halt would ever get married, Crowley had failed to realize that his feelings went unsaid until it was too late.

_You should've when you could've, _a little voice inside his head told him. He frowned at it, glancing at Pauline across the room. He may have fancied her at one time – in fact, a part of him probably always would. But he wouldn't ever give up two of his closest friends for something like that. He had had his chance, and now it was gone. They were both his best friends – and they were both happy with each other. He should be happy for them.

And, as he thought about it, he found that he was. He really, truly was.

He smiled.

**2. Wounded **– _John Powell - Length:1:25 – Repetitions:5_

The battle had been short. Of course, it was hardly a battle at all – just a few angry farmers clashing with the most skilled knights of Araluen. It was short and succinct. There were a few injuries, but overall it had been relatively small. However, someone had neglected to tell the princess that everything had gone so well.

"Where is he? Is he hurt?" She demanded. A baffled infantry soldier blumbered for a second before pointing towards one of the healers' tents. "I think they put him in there." He said.

Blanching at the notion, Cassandra hiked up her skirts, which were thoroughly speckled with mud, and rushed to the tent fearing the worst. Upon arriving, she found Horace, alive and well, with his back turned to her and a healer standing close by.

"Horace!" She called in relief, and he turned around to see her.

"Cassie," he said, confused, "What are you doing out here?"

"I thought you were hurt!" She went to his side.

"Who told you that?"

"Well, I… I mean, oh, it doesn't matter. Here I was, thinking you were horribly wounded…"

"What? Wounded? I am wounded."

"What?" Her eyes widened, "Where?" She looked him over, searching for signs of blood.

He held out his hand. "Look at it. It's horrible. Bloody painful, too."

Cassandra took his hand to peer at it. On the ball of his thumb, surrounded by irritated skin, there was a splinter, smaller than the eye of a needle.

She looked up at him, rather unamused.

Ignoring her look, he pointed up to a spot on his forehead, where a shallow scratch shown red.

"And here, too. One of those stupid farmers took a hunk out of me with his pitchfork."

At that, Cassandra had to laugh, half at Horace's adamantly straight face, half in relief that he really was alright. Playing along, she pouted out her bottom lip and put a hand to his cheek. "Oh, poor baby." She cooed teasingly, "Do you need mommy to kiss it better?"

Catching on, Horace pouted out his lip also and nodded pitifully.

Cassandra's façade broke, and she let out a hearty laugh, but dutifully reached up and kissed Horace's injured brow.

"I am glad you're okay." She told him genuinely.

He frowned at her. "Okay? Look at it!" He raised his hand to her again and pointed at his battle-earned splinter. "A blasted spade handle did that!"

She shook her head at him, rolling her green eyes. "Oh you cheeky idiot, would you shut up?" And she made sure he did by planting a kiss squarely on his mouth. Horace gladly played along once more.

However painful, there were definite perks to being wounded.

**3. Tomorrow **– _Alicia Morton – Length:2:29 – Repetitions: 8_

Evanlyn hissed as she cut herself on the knife while trying to skin the emaciated hare that would be their dinner. Wrapping a makeshift bandage around it, she finished the chore and put the measly carcass on a small spit to hang over the fire. She wiped her hands on her already dirtied skirts, and turned away. Looking at her from across the small hut was Will, eyes dark and sullen beneath a matted mess of overgrown hair. His stare was hollow, with a deep-seated urgency beneath. He looked at her as he did every day around dinner. She sighed, wishing desperately that she didn't have to do what she was about to.

"Will, when will this ever stop?" She asked him quietly, her voice hoarse from exhaustion and emotion.

He didn't give any answer.

"Please, Will – don't do this. You have to wake up." She told him.

He blinked blindly at her, and held out an upturned palm pleadingly.

She sighed and let her eyes close, trying not to let the tears fall.

As one being marched to the gallows, she trudged out of the small cabin to the lean-to, where the secret stash was hidden. Carefully measuring an amount slightly less than the day before, she carried it in her hand back to where Will was waiting. He seemed to catch its scent as she entered, and he sat up straighter, his eyes focused unwaveringly on the substance she carried with her.

"Now, you haven't got much left you know," she told him. "Sooner or later, you'll have to give it up. And when that happens, Will, you can't go on like this."

He didn't say anything. He didn't move. He didn't even blink. He just stared at the small dose of warmweed that lay in her hand. She sighed out the helpless sob that gripped her lungs, and stepped forward to hand the comatose boy his prize. He gobbled it up greedily, paying her no heed. It was painful to watch. Then his eyes glazed over, his hands grew limp, and his head tipped back in a way that reminded Evanlyn eerily of a man half-dead.

That's when the tears started to fall.

She fell to the ground in an exhausted, tearful heap. It was too much. Day after day, week after week, they had been stranded in that small hut. Alone in a foreign, hostile land with the fear of capture and danger constantly creeping up her spine, the entire burden of survival had landed squarely on Evanlyn's inexperienced shoulders. The finding of food, the provision of water and shelter, and caring for the pony, herself, and Will. Will was the hardest, she thought. Once a bright, optimistic and resourceful companion, he was now dead and absent, bound by the narcotic addiction that had been forced upon him during slavery. She looked at him though teary vision, barely recognizing the young ranger's apprentice that she had grown to know.

"When will it end?" She asked the air around her. "When will we ever get out of here?" She shivered against a cold draft, her dirty hair plastering itself to her face. "And what will I ever tell Halt if Will doesn't make it?" She slowly dissolved into sobs again, rocking gently back and forth. She huddled herself in the corner near the fireplace for warmth. Soon, she had cried to the point where there were no tears left to cry. Dry, silent sobs wracked her body, and she fought to control them. Somewhere amongst the tears and the pain, a memory stirred in her.

_The sun'll come out tomorrow,_

_So you gotta hang on til tomorrow,_

_Come what may,_

It was an old song that she remembered her father singing to her as a very young child. Whenever she told him that she was missing her mother, he would take her in his arms, and start to softly sing the words that came to her now.

_Tomorrow,tomorrow,_

_I love ya, tomorrow,_

_You're always a day away._

She pulled the memory close, and recalled that her father was often crying while he sang to her. She mustered heart, and began to quietly murmur, despite her sobs,

"The sun'll come out tomorrow... So you've got to hang on til tomorrow, come what may." She collapsed into a roug sob, but continued still. "Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you, tomorrow, you're only a day away." She sat there for a moment, calming from her tears and wiping her cheeks. With her weakened resolve mended somewhat, she rose and sniffed away the last of her tears, before turning to check on Will. He was sound asleep.

She shuffled over to him, and draped a moth-eaten blanket over his shoulders.

"Tomorrow, Will," She told him, "Tomorrow you'll come back. Tomorrow it'll be spring. Tomorrow, we'll be going back home."

Naturally, he didn't respond.

She went to sit by the fire, and poked at the embers beneath the roasting hare.

_Tomorrow, _she told herself, _come what may._

_

* * *

_

**A/N: Sorry you only get three drabbles. I feel kinda bad for not giving you at least five, but my creative inspiration is being drained by other things. Terribly sorry. See y'all again in December! R&R!**


	6. Back to Time Limits

A/N: Ugh. I cannot describe how little inspiration I have these days. Perhaps working on my long-neglected song prompts will help.

By the way, I don't know if you will be interested, but for my dedicated fans (if I even have such a thing) feel free to check out my tumblr blog at .com. Just earlier today, I posted the first in a series of video blogs for a video challenge, so you can actually see me in the flesh and not behind some penname. I also have lots of cool miscellaneous stuff on my blog, so go check it out. There is a severe lack of Ranger's Apprentice on tumblr. I plan to change that.

Anyway, let's see if I can't get my creative juices flowing, shall we?

And yes, I am working within time limits this time around.

* * *

**1. Take you Back **– _Jeremy Camp – _3:59

He hadn't realized that he'd let it overcome him. It was a slow process, unknown to him, that grew and grew until it covered him in a heavy blanket of fear that he didn't notice until he couldn't carry it anymore.

He was terrified that they'd never accept him again. He wasn't the same. He was different. He was skinnier than before. Weaker, more scared, and in a sense that went beyond the year he'd been gone, he was much older as well. But the things that he'd been through weren't the kind forgotten overnight. Slavery, addiction, war. They weighed heavily on his sixteen year old mind, isolating him from his peers and distancing him from those he loved the most. He hadn't realized how far he'd drifted until they'd found him. And then he thought that he'd never be able to go back.

But then, Halt had given him that one, solid nod, and suddenly, he knew.

It may take a while. He may be different. He may not ever be the same again. But some how, some way, at the end of it all, everything would be all right.

He'd be Will. He'd be loved. He'd accepted. He'd be back home, after it all.

* * *

**2. The Long Road Back – **_Hans Zimmer – _7:11

Journeys were curious things, Horace thought. The destination was the ultimate goal, but sometimes it was the trip in between that stuck with you the most. Sometimes it was the laughter shared between friends, sometimes the maddening droll of a boring ride, sometimes the ache of homesickness and anxiety. But nothing, he thought, could compare with this journey.

It was a long journey. Through snow, forests, and fields, across the entire country. But the five-day ride was made infinitely longer by their company. Even as he rode weary-faced at the front, Horace could hear the soft moans from the litters that so many horses drug behind them, and could feel the weight of grief and guilt left behind by the men who'd left their saddles empty. It had been a hard campaign. There had been so many lost, so many dead. All of the soldiers took it hard, but perhaps none harder than Horace. He had a lot to think about on their way back.

"Horace, it's not your fault," a young knight told his officer kindly.

"That doesn't make it any easier," Horace replied sadly.

Richard began to say something, but instead simply shook his head and sank back.

When they got home, Horace's first duty was to go to the families of the fallen. Each and every one of them, to tell them that the boy, the man that they had bid farewell so many months ago was never coming home. And with every mother robbed of her son, every widow left alone, every child cheated of their father, Horace's heart grew heavier and heavier.

That night, he stumbled into his chambers after seven months at war. Quietly, he stepped inside a small bedroom. He laid his hand on the crib railing and gazed down at his sleeping son, now so much bigger than he remembered, and wept. Eventually, he had to fall to the ground. He put his face in his hands, sobbing silently, trying not to wake little Liam.

When Cassandra found him there, she didn't say anything, but knelt down beside him and held him while he cried for all those who had lost so much that day, for the orphans who would now grow up as he did, for the wives left alone, and most of all for the parents, whose pain he could not even bear to imagine.

"It's long road to Araluen," he told his wife at length, "a long, long road. A road I don't want to travel ever again."

* * *

A/N: Wow. Both angsty things, aren't they? Let's try to cheer things up a bit.

* * *

**3.****Run –**_Paul Colman Trio – _3:54

"Run." Was all he said.

"What?" Will gave Gilan his best puzzled expression.

"Run. Just run."

"Run? But-"

"Curse it, Will, just _run!"_

Now that he bothered to look, the stampede of battlehorses _was_ getting rather close.

"What did you _do?_"

"It's not my fault!" Gilan said.

"Then whose is it?"

"It's all Crowley, I swear! I was just following his instructions!"

"Instructions for _what?_"

"No time to explain! Now _RUN!"_

* * *

A/N: Aw, out of time. What is the story behind this? I have absolutely no idea. But the beginning sequence struck me as funny, and I just kind of went from there.

* * *

**4. Coronation **_– Andy Brown _– 2:32

If someone had told him that one day he'd wear a royal crown, he would have laughed in their faces.

He hadn't laughed when King Duncan had told him, but he was pretty sure he went white in the face.

The formal coronation was actually held a few months before the wedding – by ancient Araluan law, a princess couldn't properly wed a man who wasn't a prince, and since he'd end up a prince one way or other, Horace and his soon to be father-in-law, King Duncan, had decided to get it out of the way ahead of time. In comparison to the upcoming wedding, it was a relatively unimportant affair.

But 'unimportant' wasn't exactly the word that came to mind when Horace stepped out onto the dais and found himself standing above the largest gathering of people he'd ever seen. He watched nervously as Duncan himself took the gold circlet from its cushion. Anxiously, he made sure he was maintaining just the right posture, as he'd been told. But then, just as crown was placed ceremoniously on his head, a sudden urge overcome him.

Years ago, if someone had told that he'd one day wear a royal crown, he would have laughed in their faces. And now, as it was actually happening, he felt the need to do just that.

Who would have thought; the orphan son of two commoners, crown Prince of Araluan.

Come to think of it, it was rather funny.

So perhaps it was perfectly reasonable for Araluen's new Prince to burst out laughing at his own coronation.

* * *

**5. Beautiful Ending **– _BarlowGirl _– 4:18

He'd never really thought about it too much, how lucky they all were. He'd never considered just how many odds they'd beaten in simply meeting each other, much less in all they'd accomplished. There was Will, who had perhaps grown the most of them all. Orphaned at birth, raised without an identity, trained by a legend, brought into a family, and turned into a hero. There was Alyss, graceful, patient Alyss, who had held them all together like glue through the years, both the easy and the hard. Then there was himself, who had changed so much that he hardly recognized the memory of his childhood self. But he had changed for the better, he knew, and he could smile now at the distant memory. And finally, there was Cassandra, who was the latest comer to their entourage, hardest to fit in, but none less loved for the fact. She gave them structure and ambition, zeal and consideration. They were a funny, hodgepodge bunch, with a history so rich it would take an entire book to tell. Perhaps a few books.

It was such a funny story, with twists and turns, rises and falls, and so many intricate little connections throughout its middle that Horace really couldn't figure out where it began and where it would end. Perhaps that was the way it was meant to be.

In truth, he thought, their story never had a real beginning. It was a slow process of time, introductions, trials, and perhaps the hand of God. However, if he were to define one single moment as the place where it all started, it would have be that moment when four insecure teenagers looked at each other and, for the first time, saw not the faces of enemies, nor of friends, but of family.

And perhaps this beginning was an ongoing one, and perhaps there wasn't a real end in sight, but looking at where they'd been and where they would surely go, Horace had decided one thing about that distant end to which he and his friends were headed: it would be beautiful.

He looked to his left and to his right, and to each side he found himself surrounded by family.

Yes, he thought, a beautiful ending indeed.

* * *

A/N: Aimless random mush. I came up with the quotation for the third paragraph quite a while ago, and was looking for an excuse to incorporate it into something. This isn't the most well done excuse, but hey, it got in there.

Thanks for reading!

Read and Review, please.


	7. Just the Title

**A/N: **WOW. I haven't updated in FOREVER. COLLEGE IS EATING MY SOOOUUULLL… And my time. So I can't really update much these days… I wanted to work on a chapter to a real story, but I couldn't muster anything decent… So I decided to work on these instead. You'll notice I only have the titles of songs on these. That's because I didn't actually listen to them or use their length as guidelines… I just used the titles as prompts.

Oh, and just so you know, _The Lost Stories_ arrived in the mail yesterday. I haven't put it down. It's _amazing_. Though I've heard it has some really sad stories in it, I haven't gotten to any of them yet. I'm currently on _Purple Prose_ and all I can think is: WILL, JUST SHUT UP AND FLEE WITH WHAT DIGNITY YOU HAVE LEFT!

...Anyway...

* * *

**Devious Plan**

Jenny watched Alyss drag Will onto the dance floor and shook her head.

"Honestly, I can't believe what you put him through," she told Gilan.

The ranger turned to her, confused. "How do you mean?"

Jenny scoffed. "I'm not silly enough to believe that Will was the _only_ wedding party member not instructed in dancing lessons by mere happenstance. You and Halt didn't tell him on purpose, didn't you?" She cast her companion an accusatory glare.

Gilan looked affronted. "I'm surprised at you, Jenny. How could you ever suggest such mischief?"

She looked unconvinced. "So you and Halt had nothing to do with it?"

Gilan shook his head resolutely. "No, of course not, not at all, probably not, not really…" He waved his hands a few times, then slowly worked into a sheepish shrug. "Well… Perhaps just a little bit to do with it…"

"A little?"

"…A bit."

"Really?"

"…Perhaps."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"…Yes."

"That's what I thought," Jenny smiled triumphantly and turned her eyes back to the awkwardly-dancing ranger. Despite her disappointment in Gilan and Halt for embarrassing Will so, she couldn't help but to smile. "I must say… I've never seen Will quite so flustered before."

Gilan beamed at her. "I'll say. It's the only way to embarrass the man – he's just too good at everything else."

The two watched for a silent moment, delighting in Will's show of incompetence. Jenny cast a glance at Gilan, and his wide, boyish grin infected her. She smiled more widely when she asked, "You're never going to let him live this down, are you?"

Gilan snorted derisively, his eyes alight with amusement. "Not while I'm still alive."

* * *

**Fairy Tale**

Like any other Araluen child, Princess Cassandra had been brought up on fantastical tales of far-off lands and beautiful characters. Knights in shining armor, Princesses like herself, trapped away by some evil witch, waiting for their true love. As a young girl, Cassandra had always tried to picture herself in a fairy tale, waiting for the day when a dashing young prince would save her from the humdrum days of princess-ly lessons and the endless walls of Castle Araluen. She hadn't the slightest idea who he might be, but she knew he would appear one day and whisk her away. They'd fall in love, get married, and live happily ever after. Even as a teenager, though she'd given up on the picturesque daydreams of her childhood, she spent time wondering when exactly her prince (for that was truly what he'd be) would appear in her life and make those humdrum castle days a bit more interesting. She kept her eyes peeled for some strikingly handsome nobleman, brave and true, with a winning smile and an adventuresome heart. She could never seem to find him.

Then one day, all that changed.

He hadn't appeared suddenly. In fact, when she finally realized that it was _him,_ he'd been there by her side for years, as loyal a soldier and friend as anyone could ask for. He hadn't whisked her away – if anything, she'd whisked him, and he'd loyally remained with her to support and help her wherever she went. His bravery wasn't worn on his shield or in his ego, but on his daily acts of servitude and compassion that continually surprised her. His smile wasn't flawless, and was in fact rather shy, but it made her go giddy every time she saw it, because she knew it was connected directly to his heart. His heart was adventuresome, alright, but humble above all, and caring to those he called friend. All in all, he was her perfect prince, if not in a guise she hadn't been expecting.

Certainly, she had never expected him to come in the form of Horace Altman.

He was a peasant by birth, not a prince, and yet, she realized she would have no other man. She would make him a prince, for that was what he was at heart.

In a way just like and yet infinitely more perfect than any fairy tale, their romance fell together like the pieces of a puzzle, and they were quickly set for their 'happily ever after'. But unlike the stories, Cassandra's own life didn't end with that one line. As she smiled up at him through the white veil, she realized rather suddenly that this was merely the beginning of a story far grander, larger, and more wonderful than any fairy tale had ever been.

From childhood, she'd set out looking for a handsome rescuer and a happily ever after. Now, years later, she realized that she'd never found what she was looking for.

She'd found something much, _much_ better.

* * *

**Blush**

He wasn't.

He _couldn't._

Could he?

Pauline couldn't believe her eyes. Halt was _blushing._

She wasn't sure she'd ever seen him do such a thing. But there he was, face as straight and taciturn as always, as red as a beet. She'd only known the young ranger for a few years, but in that time she couldn't ever remember him _blushing._ Certainly not because of the words of a lady.

Unbidden, a snappish anger rose in in the back of her mind, but Pauline batted it down. She had enough self-consciousness to realize that she'd been nursing a rather serious (if not completely ridiculous) crush on the Hibernian expat for several months, but she tried to ignore the fact as often as possible. Still, the fact that some other girl (whom Pauline thought she might have liked, if she hadn't started flirting with _her_ ranger) could make Halt blush made a slight pang of jealousy spring up in her mind. And yet, she couldn't help but smiling when she looked at him.

Tight-faced or not, Halt was just so darned _cute_ when he was blushing.

…Not that Pauline would have noticed.

At any rate, it was the first time she'd ever seen him flustered before, and she'd enjoyed it so thoroughly, she decided right then and there that she would make it her mission to catch Halt blushing again.

Unfortunately, Halt was a rather difficult person to catch flustered. Firstly, he was hard to catch at anything, because he was constantly skulking around _watching,_ not _being watched._ Secondly, he was always so quiet and serious, it was nigh impossible for Pauline to gauge what might or might not embarrass the man. Nothing, it seemed. Thirdly, (and this was perhaps the most annoying of all) Pauline hardly got enough time with the scruffy young ranger to possible catch him at any of his few momentary lapses of dignity. After two months at trying, Pauline was ready to give up for frustration.

Then one evening, as Halt was walking her back to her apartment after a meeting with the Baron (as any self-respecting man would for a lady, in the dark of night) the cooking lady who kindly held open the door for them said quite innocently,

"Have a good evening, milady, Halt." She smiled, "You two make a fine couple, you know," she said, before hurrying off. At once, Halt's eyes widened.

"I, we're not, I mean, I'm not…" He trailed off as the lady left. "I… erhm…" He sighed and ducked back around.

And there, in the dull light of evening, Pauline could see that he was blushing as red as a ripe apple, from his collar to his hairline. She turned away quickly, lest he see her irrepressible smile.

Perhaps it wasn't so much as his blush as it was what he was blushing about, Pauline thought, but she suddenly had the thought that Halt looked particularly adorable that night. After they arrived at her apartment door, where he would normally bid her good night in a friendly and comfortable way, he seemed a bit stiff that night. He coughed and then said, "Have a good evening, Pauline,"

"You too, Halt," She said. Unlike her companion, Pauline was feeling particularly bold that night. Without a hint of shame, she stepped over to him and kissed him on a scruffy cheek.

She just _had_ to see that blush one more time. And she did.

When she'd had her fill of his embarrassment, she bid him goodnight, stepped into her home, and went off to bed, smiling all the way.


End file.
